


Sweet Music in the Back of My Mind

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-08
Updated: 2005-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life has its own soundtrack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Music in the Back of My Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/gifts).



> This was written as a birthday present for [](http://celli.livejournal.com/profile)[**celli**](http://celli.livejournal.com/). I'm assuming that she's read it by now. Thanks to [](http://mecurtin.livejournal.com/profile)[**mecurtin**](http://mecurtin.livejournal.com/) and [](http://simplelyric.livejournal.com/profile)[**simplelyric**](http://simplelyric.livejournal.com/) for betaing. The music belongs to Alex Lloyd (his "Watching Angels Mend" album).

**Track One**

"So I told him to think of it as a mix tape."

Casey blinked and looked over at Dan. Admittedly, he'd been following that conversation rather half-heartedly as he read over his script one last time, but he was pretty sure they weren't talking about music. "What?"

Dan grinned. "You totally tuned out then, didn't you?"

"I was following the pointers about editing a good highlights tape," Casey replied, fiddling with his mike. "I may have let my attention wander when you got to 'Philistines who don't appreciate the battle.'"

"You drifted away."

"Autopilot responses," Casey admitted. "So, mix tapes?"

Dan nodded. "If you think of games as albums, and individual plays as songs, the highlights are a mix tape."

"That makes a surprising amount of warped sense."

"I was trying to explain it to Jeremy," Dan said, shifting in his dark blue jacket and pale blue shirt. "It's not a summary of the battle. It's a mix tape."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"You're trying to choose specific songs to get the other person to understand the _feel_ , the meaning of the battle. They don't need to see each play. They need to appreciate the overall direction."

"Huh." Casey looked over and noted they still had ninety seconds to go until air-time. "Did Jeremy understand your extended metaphor?"

"I understood it," Jeremy said through their earpieces. He sounded a little harried; Casey assumed the control room was dealing with something more important than mix tape comparisons. "I'm not sure I agree, but I understood it."

"You should agree," Dan said to the camera.

"Why?"

"Because Danny says so," Casey offered with a grin.

Dan smirked. "Besides, I'm right."

"Hmmm" Jeremy said, and then their earpieces went silent.

Casey turned back to Dan. "I take it you were a fan of the mix tape?"

"I made a lot of them in college. Didn't you?"

Casey shrugged. "Not really."

"No?"

"I used to make driving tapes, though."

"You made driving mix tapes?" Dan asked in a tone bordering on outright mockery.

"You know what it's like. Driving interstate, you end up spending hours with static because you can't find a good station. Hence, driving tapes."

"Ah," Dan said slowly. "I used to make them for people."

"People?"

"Girlfriends, mainly. You put together a romantic collection of songs, give it to them, and they think you're such a poet at heart."

Casey laughed. "Probably works better than writing poetry."

"It's all 'blah, blah, blah, you're so special,'" Dan said with a wave of his hand, "'blah, blah, blah, true love, blah, blah, blah, love at first sight.' Throw in a couple of personal touches, a song that references their smile, their eyes, their laugh, and they're putty in your hands."

Natalie squawked over their earpieces, "Danny!"

Dan amended quickly, "Well, they were back in college."

"Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am," Casey said knowingly.

Dan laughed, turning to the cameras. "More like 'wham, bam, thank you, Dan,'" he said and then smoothly switched into the show's intro.

  
***

  
The CD was sitting on Casey's desk. Thinking it was Dan's, Casey acted as he normally did: he picked it up just to be nosey. On the back cover, there was a bright yellow Post-It note with Dan's messy handwriting.

 _Knew you'd pick it up. The CD's for you. Dan._

***

 **Track Two**

Dana opened their office door and frowned at him. As far as Casey knew, he hadn't screwed anything up lately. "What?"

"I'm worried about you."

Casey blinked. "About me?"

"The network expects certain behavior from a sports anchor," Dana said seriously, pushing back a strand of shiny, blonde hair.

Casey swiveled his chair around to face her fully. "And I haven't been meeting these expectations?"

"You're in sports broadcasting, Casey. We expect you to watch games, to read scores, to be aware of the latest drafting rumors."

"I keep telling Danny that it adds a certain informed quality to our scripts."

"We don't expect you to barricade yourself in your room and blare pop music."

"Ah," Casey said and turned down the speakers on his computer. "It's a new CD."

Dana raised an eyebrow and leaned her shoulder against the doorway. "Is there any reason why you're playing it at work?"

"Danny gave it to me."

Dana laughed. "I thought boys stopped giving out mix tapes in college."

Casey blinked, turning over the cover in his hand, but when he looked up to question Dana's comment, she was already gone.

  
***

  
"Danny?"

"Yeah?"

Casey held up the cover of the CD. "Is this a mix tape?"

"Who was the top pick for both the NFL and the AFL draft in 1961?"

"Mike Ditka," Casey replied easily. "Why?"

"Just wanted to make sure you hadn't lost all your marbles," Dan said as he finished writing a sentence. He placed his pen down on the desk and looked over at Casey. "That is a CD. It looks, sounds and plays like a CD. It's nothing like a mix tape. I'm wondering why you'd confuse the two."

Casey shrugged. "Dana referred to it as a mix tape." As soon as he said it, he realized how ridiculous it was. The woman was afraid of fish, for heaven's sake.

"And?" Dan asked, sniggering.

Casey rolled his eyes. "I wanted to make sure it wasn't a case of 'wham, bam, thank you, Dan,'" he replied dryly.

Dan grinned. "Worried about your reputation?"

Casey turned back to his pad of paper. "I wouldn't want everyone thinking I'm easy."

"Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"We all know about Sally."

"So?" Casey felt his brows furrow in confusion.

"You _are_ easy."

Casey rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to throw something at Dan.

***

 **Track Three**

"You can't dance," Dan announced in the middle of the cheerleaders' half-time routine.

Sitting up on Dan's couch, Casey quickly took stock of the five empty beer bottles surrounding them. They weren't drunk enough to justify completely random comments. "What?"

"You can't dance."

Casey stared at Dan. "You said that already. Repeating it doesn't explain it."

Dan grinned and bounced to his feet. He looked surprisingly sober for someone making so little sense. Then again, Dan didn't need to be drunk to talk nonsense.

"Dance with me."

"What?"

Dan had muted the TV and was switching on the stereo. "You are a well-rounded guy, apart from the fact that you can't dance."

Casey blinked as music started to play. "Hey. I know this song." When it came to Danny's stereo it was pretty unusual for Casey to even recognize the singer.

"I know." Dan grinned. "I bought you the CD."

Casey stopped himself from humming along. "You got yourself a copy, too?"

"I got myself a copy first," Dan corrected. "Then I realized you'd like it."

"Because it isn't cool?" Casey asked suspiciously.

"It's very cool, Casey. Stand up." Dan made 'get up' gestures with both hands. Casey sighed and got to his feet. "It's cool, but it's also melodic."

"Melodic?"

"It's all about the melody. Plus, it's very easy to listen to. Of course you'd love it," Dan said, smiling widely.

"And I do," Casey said, returning Dan's grin. "But that doesn't mean I can't dance."

"Your taste in music has nothing to with your dancing difficulties."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "And what are my 'dancing difficulties'?"

"You always look uncomfortable on the dance floor."

"I don't know why we're having this conversation."

"Whenever you dance up close with someone, you look uncomfortable." Dan shrugged and started to sway loosely to the music, rolling his shoulders from side to side. "It's not a pop quiz. It's dancing. It's supposed to be fun."

Casey raised his eyebrows.

"Dance," Dan said. "Otherwise, we'll be watching the rest of the game with background music."

Casey glanced at the bright green grass on the TV screen. "You're holding the commentary ransom?"

"Dance."

"Why--"

"Close your eyes if it makes you feel better."

He considered pointing out that Dan was being insane, but decided it would be easier to indulge him and then get back to the game. Closing his eyes, Casey listened to the gentle beat and started to dance, just a little. He felt like an idiot.

"See? No big deal."

Instead of replying to Dan's smug comment, Casey kept his eyes shut. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moving lazily to the rhythm.

"What I don't get," Dan said from somewhere to Casey's left, "is why you freeze up when you dance close to someone."

Casey didn't bother arguing the point. This would probably be over more quickly if he followed Dan's demented line of reasoning without trying to make sense of it.

"You're not a bad dancer. You just get tense." Dan's voice was behind Casey. Then Dan was behind him, resting a hand on Casey's hips as he mimicked Casey's slow steps. "There's no reason for it."

Dan was warm and solid behind him, easily matching Casey sway for sway.

"Honestly?" Casey asked as he turned his head and opened his eyes to Dan's relaxed smile. "I have no idea either."

Dan chuckled, and Casey felt the vibrations against his back. Holding his gaze, Dan slipped his other hand around Casey's waist. Casey smiled.

Then the television caught Dan's attention. "Hey, half-time's over, Travolta." Dan made a quick dash for the stereo while Casey fumbled for the mute button on the TV remote.

***

 **Track Four**

Dan was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I want a cigarette."

"You don't smoke," Casey pointed out reasonably, hiding his amusement.

Dan shrugged at him and held an imaginary cigarette to his lips. "I used to."

"But you don't anymore."

"Which is why I don't have any. But I want one."

Casey laid a hand on Dan's shoulder, partly to reassure him and partly to stop him from jumping up and down. "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Relax."

"That's easy for you to say," Dan shot back. "You weren't nominated."

Casey looked up at the high white ceiling and tried not to laugh. "Yeah, because I've never been up for a writing award. I wouldn't have a clue."

"That wasn't what I meant." Dan ran a hand through his hair and then stopped, smoothing it back down. He pulled at his collar, straightening his polka-dot bow-tie. "There's a chance I could win this. It's a good reason to be edgy."

Casey glanced around the empty corridor. It had been his idea to get Dan out of the chattering awards room to calm him down, to get him away from tables of people waiting to hear the winning names. Now, Casey was wondering if tying Dan to his chair would have worked better. "You're going to win."

Drawing in a shaky breath, Dan watched him doubtfully. "See, I think there's a chance, but saying stuff like that is going to jinx it. And right now I'm relying on a lot of luck."

"No, you're not."

"Trust me, Casey. I am."

"You weren't nominated because you're lucky. It's because you're talented. And you deserve this." Casey grinned at Dan and wished Dan could share his absolute confidence. He wrapped his arm around Dan's shoulders. "You'll win."

Dan sighed loudly, but he looked a little calmer. Just a little. "Let's go back in."

  
***

  
Dan was sprawled across one side of the booth at Anthony's. His bow-tie was hanging loose around his neck, and the top button of his white shirt was undone. He was also smiling widely. "Go on."

"What?"

"Go ahead and say it."

Casey tried to keep his expression innocent. He thought about Charlie's list of birthday presents and the last time he'd called his mom. "What are you talking about?"

"Just say it, okay?" Dan grinned at him and raised his glass.

Clinking their glasses together in a mock-toast, Casey laughed. "I told you so."

"You really did. How did you know?"

"That you were going to win?"

"Yeah."

Casey shifted on the wooden seat. "I work with you every day."

"So?"

"So I know that when you're on," Casey said with a relaxed shrug, "you do great work. I knew you deserved it."

Dan's eyes softened. "Thanks."

"For putting up with your rampant ego _and_ your illogical self-doubt?"

"For having faith in me," Dan said simply.

Casey patted Dan on the back. "It's only faith when there's no objective proof."

***

 **Track Five**

Casey held his hand out and watched the light spray hit his palm. "It's raining."

Dan kept striding down the pavement. "It's around here somewhere."

"You said that two long blocks ago."

"Well, it wasn't around there, so it must be around here," Dan replied, splashing through a puddle.

Casey brought an arm up above his head, trying to shield himself from the rain. It didn't work very well. "You have no idea where this mythical bar is, do you?"

"It's not mythical," Dan replied, turning the corner. "I found it two nights ago."

"But you've lost it now?"

"It's around here somewhere." Dan stopped, looking around. He peered down each street, then shrugged and started walking again. It didn't fill Casey with confidence.

"Danny, it's raining."

"Yes."

Casey easily kept pace beside Dan. "It's one in the morning, and we're walking in the rain."

"Yes."

"Because there's a wonderful bar that you stumbled across once, and now you can't find it."

Dan grinned at him. "We're in the process of finding it."

"I don't even know where we are," Casey whined. The raindrops started coming faster and harder, and a couple slithered down the back of his neck.

Dan drew his jacket closer around his chest, stomping through puddles with ruthless determination. "Me neither."

Casey stopped walking. "So we're lost?"

"We're not _lost_ ," Dan said, stopping a foot in front of him. "Manhattan's a grid. You can't get lost. I just don't know precisely where we are."

"We're lost." Casey hunched his shoulders against the rain. "In the rain. You have got us lost, in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm."

"It's for a worthy cause." Dan scanned the buildings around them.

"For a bar that only exists in your imagination?"

"No," Dan replied distractedly, looking down the street. He started walking quickly and called out over his shoulder, "Come on."

Casey considered calling a cab. Then he shrugged and followed Dan. "What?"

Dan had stopped in front of a door with dark, smoked glass. It had gold lettering, but the font was too ornate to read. Beaming, Dan waved a hand at the doorway. "It's my mythical bar."

  
***

  
"So?"

Half an hour later, Casey was sitting in a warm, dimly lit bar. He was also drinking the best strawberry daiquiri he'd ever had. "It's good."

Dan grinned and leaned his damp shirtsleeves on the table. "Was it worth it?"

"The rain? The hour of walking? Following you for block after block as we got more and more lost?" Casey took another sip of the sweet concoction. It wasn't something he'd admit to Dana upon pain of death, but if he had to pick a favorite cocktail, a good strawberry daiquiri would win hands down.

Dan nodded. "Yeah."

"Definitely worth it." Casey took another sip. "You were right. Best strawberry daiquiri in Manhattan."

"Told you so."

***

 **Track Six**

"I can't sleep."

"You can't sleep?"

"Yeah," Dan said, "I can't sleep."

Casey sighed and hit the mute button on his remote. "So you decided to call me at three a.m. to tell me you can't sleep?"

"Well, I was thinking about you. About what type of person you are."

"Yeah?"

"Talking to you should put me to sleep pretty quickly."

Casey rolled his eyes and was tempted to turn the sound on his TV back on. "Go to sleep, Danny."

"I can't. That's why I called."

"Then do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." Casey shrugged, even though Dan couldn't see it. "Try to think of something that doesn't involve insulting me."

"It's three in the morning. I'm not that imaginative."

"Oh, I think you are."

"I'm really not."

There was a crunching from Dan's end, and Casey suddenly understood Dan's insomnia. "Are you still eating the candy Natalie gave you?"

Casey heard Dan swallow. "Maybe."

Casey laughed at Dan's guilty tone and had to push further. "Did you really think that eating sugar was going to help you sleep soundly?"

"I'm not five. It shouldn't stop me sleeping."

"And yet," Casey replied, "you can't sleep."

"I really can't."

Shaking his head, Casey chuckled. "Why don't you put the sugar-high to good use? If you can't sleep, clean out the top of your closet."

"Casey," Dan whined.

"Aren't you the one that keeps complaining that you never get time to unpack those boxes? That they've been there since you moved?"

"Yeeeeeeeeah," Dan said, stretching the syllable until it contained a world of complaints. It was the same reaction Charlie had to eating cabbage. "But..."

"But what?"

"That's boring."

"Then go to sleep."

"I can't sleep."

"Okay," Casey said firmly, "I'm hanging up now."

  
***

  
Dan walked into their office, yawning and holding a cardboard box.

Casey raised an eyebrow at him. "What's that?"

"This," Dan said, dropping the cardboard box on the desk and missing Casey's fingers by mere inches, "is yours."

"Mine?"

"This is yours from Dallas."

"How can this be my stuff?" Casey frowned and stood up, opening up the box. There were scraps of paper and a stapler. He didn't see how it was his.

"It is."

"I've unpacked all my stuff."

"You remember when we were cleaning out our desks and Lisa had the car, so I gave you and your boxes a ride home?"

"Yeah."

"You must have left this box in my car."

"And you moved it up with your stuff," Casey said as he rummaged through the box. There were notes in his handwriting, packs of bright yellow Post-It's, and -- aha! -- the newspaper cutouts he'd carefully saved in Dallas and then lost in the move to New York. "I wondered what happened to these."

"Now the mystery is solved."

Casey pulled the clippings out, and then remembered what else he'd lost in the move. "Did you find that photo of us, from your twenty-fourth birthday?"

"The one where you nearly pushed me into my own cake?" Dan asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. Then he pulled something out of his pocket. "This one?"

Casey grabbed it out of Dan's hand. "That's the one." In the photo, Dan was leaning precariously over a large chocolate cake, his dark hair long enough to fall across his brows. Casey stood beside him, hands wrapped around Dan's shoulders in an enthusiastic hug, grinning widely. It was hard to tell if Dan was laughing or about to yell at him. "We should get that framed."

Dan snorted. "It can serve as a warning. A constant reminder of why it's dangerous to have affectionate friends."

***

 **Track Seven**

When Casey picked up the phone, Dan said a quick hello and then launched straight to the point. "You've never been to the ballet, right?"

Casey cringed, already recognizing the desperate note of cheer in Dan's quick words. Dan was going to try to convince him to try something new. He just knew it. "No."

"Then today is your lucky day," Dan said confidently. "Today, you are going to see the ballet."

"I don't need to point out the uncomfortable rhyme in that sentence, do I?"

"In fact, in a little over an hour, you will be seeing the wonder that is the New York City Ballet performing La Sylphide. It'll rock your world."

"Dan?" Casey asked sharply, trying to interrupt Dan's enthusiastic flow of words. "I don't want my world rocked. It's my night off. I want my world to gently lull me to sleep."

"It's going to be a great show. It'll be an experience you'll never forget."

"I'll never forget it, because I won't be there to remember it in the first place."

"I've got tickets!"

"It's my night off."

"It's mine, too." Dan sighed. "Melody cancelled."

"Aw, Danny." Casey sighed. It wasn't that he hadn't expected as much, but it sucked that she kept making arrangements and canceling at the last minute. "She just called?"

"Yeah."

"And cancelled on the night?"

"An hour before we were meant to meet, she calls and says she can't make it."

"I know you like her, Danny, but..." Casey paused for a moment, trying to think of a tactful way of saying 'dump her; she's rude.' "This is the Melody you've been on two dates with, right?"

"Right."

"This is the same Melody who's cancelled on you eight times?"

Dan laughed shortly. "Nine, counting tonight."

"And you thought buying ballet tickets was a good idea?"

"Who cancels a date to the ballet?"

"Melody, apparently," he said in a lightly teasing tone. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to the ballet with you."

"Casey, these are really good seats."

"If they're so good, go on your own."

"I'm not going to sit in the New York State Theatre on my own. I'm not some freak who buys two tickets so he can have an empty seat beside him. That's creepy."

Casey snorted. "It's creepy to sit beside an empty seat? Is this a new social rule?"

"Creepy and wrong. Which is why you're going to come and keep me company," Dan said smugly.

"What makes you think--"

"You've got tonight off. I know you don't have plans."

"Winding down--"

"These are great seats. For one of the best ballet companies in the world."

"Danny--"

"This is an experience that you will treasure, my friend. How can you live in Manhattan and not see the ballet?"

"Because I--"

"Besides, as my best friend, I think you have a moral obligation to help cheer me up," Dan said, and Casey frowned at the obvious emotional manipulation. Dan only did that when something was really important or when he really wanted to be annoying. "How often do we get the same night off? This should be time to bond, man. To share a great experience. Instead, you're making me look like a total social incompetent."

"But--" Casey waited, making sure he wouldn't be interrupted this time. "Seriously, I'm not going to the ballet with you."

"It's on at Lincoln Center. Corner of Columbus Avenue and 63rd Street. Be there at seven-thirty."

"I'm not--"

"Casey? You. Are. Coming. With me."

"Danny--"

"To the ballet."

"Dan--"

"Tonight," Dan said, as if he knew it was just a matter of time; as if he was merely waiting for Casey to give in, and was prepared to irritate Casey all night otherwise.

Sighing, Casey embraced defeat. "What's the dress code?"

"Smart casual," Dan said sweetly. "I'll see you there."

  
***

  
They were halfway through the third act before Casey noticed Dan's arm across the back of his chair. He was pretty sure they hadn't been sitting like that before the intermission. Probably.

Casey dragged his attention from the twirling dancers on stage -- how anyone could spin that many times and remain balanced was beyond him -- and glanced at Dan.

Dan grinned. "What do you think?"

Casey blinked, turning back to the stage. "It's incredible," he whispered back. "Mesmerizing."

"Amazing, huh?"

"Absolutely."

"So next time Melody stands me up--"

Casey whipped his head around. "There's going to be a next time?"

" _If_ there's a next time, maybe you could take my word on it when I say you'll enjoy it?"

Casey nodded, watching Dan's profile closely. "You're not really going out with her again, are you?"

"I don't think so." Dan's wry smile softened, shifting into something a little less jaded. "But we should do this again."

Casey settled back in his seat and felt Dan's hand slide over to his shoulder. "We really should."

***

 **Track Eight**

Dan was perched on the desk, tapping his feet against the drawers in harmony with the tinny music coming from the laptop. Casey walked into their office just in time to see Dan rip another page out of his notebook, screw it up and throw it unerringly into the waste bin.

"Are you going to spend the rest of the afternoon doing that?"

Dan rolled his eyes. "It's Tuesday, Casey. What do you expect me to do?"

"We could get out of the office for a while."

"And do what? Sit outside and wait for game results?" Dan asked sarcastically. "Because I can do that here without having to move."

Casey pulled his metaphorical trump card out of his wallet. He took out two white tickets and handed them to Dan. "Dana's not going to miss us for a couple of hours."

Raising an eyebrow, Dan looked over the tickets. Then he beamed. "We're going to the opera?"

Casey smiled. The expression on Dan's face made the effort of getting the tickets worth it. Then he took in what Dan had said. "You mean the ballet."

"These are opera tickets."

"No, they're not."

"It's _Die Fledermaus_ by Strauss." Dan stood up and waved the tickets in front of Casey's face. "That's an opera."

"I thought it was a ballet."

"And the fact that it's at the Met -- the Metropolitan _Opera_ House -- didn't clue you in at all?"

"I thought it was at Lincoln Center," Casey said, begrudging his mistake. He'd spent his day off calling around, trying to make sense of terms like Center Parterre and Grand Tier as he searched for a ballet that played a weekday matinee. And he'd bought tickets for the opera? That sucked. "We went to Lincoln Center last time."

"The Met is part of Lincoln Center."

"Oh."

"Come on, Casey. Cheer up. We've got tickets to the Met."

Casey snatched the tickets out of Dan's hand. "I spent good money to go see the _opera_. Excuse me if I'm a little disappointed."

"You were really looking forward to the ballet?"

"It was pretty damn amazing last time. You can't argue with that type of athleticism." Casey shoved the tickets back into his wallet. "Paying to hear people warble onstage? I can live without that."

"You can't dismiss it that quickly," Dan said, grinning. "You've never even been to the opera."

"You don't know that."

"I'm making an educated guess."

"You could be wrong."

"But I'm not." Dan laughed. "How do you know you don't like it, if you've never been?"

Casey shrugged. "Cultural osmosis."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I've seen enough Bugs Bunny to know opera isn't my thing."

"You're basing your opinions on Elmer Fudd's stirring rendition of 'Kill the Wabbit'?" Dan rolled his eyes; then he held out his hand. "That's it. Give me the tickets. We're going to the opera."

Casey squinted, scrunching up his face. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. And before you ask why, please remember that we had the same conversation about the ballet. And I was right."

Casey took a long look at Dan. There he was, wearing faded, black jeans and a simple white T-shirt, his eyebrows raised and his lips quirked as he waited for Casey to give in and give him what he wanted. "What makes you think I'll say yes?" Casey asked, knowing that he'd end up sitting in some ornate theatre, with Dan enthusiastic and excited beside him.

"Right now, you've got a choice between going with me to the opera and experiencing something truly magical," Dan said as he grabbed his jacket, "or staying here, and dealing with Kim and Elliot when they inevitably get bored and start bickering."

Casey dashed to his jacket. He ignored the smug look Dan shot at him. "I've already paid for the tickets."

"Sure," Dan said, managing to pour at least a gallon of sarcasm into one syllable.

On their way across the bullpen, Casey caught Natalie's eye and gave her a quick wave. "We're off."

"Make sure you're back by six!" she called back, and then she and Kim went back to discussing something that looked important but seemed to involve _People_ magazine.

"Look on the bright side," Dan said, as they waited for the elevator doors to open, "it's by Strauss."

"What's bright about that?"

"It's in German."

"So?"

Dan grinned. "You can translate for me."

Casey stepped into the elevator and thought of leaning against Dan, whispering into his ear. Maybe the opera wouldn't be so bad.

"You will, right?" Dan asked, pressing the ground floor button.

"Sehr gern." When Dan raised an eyebrow, Casey translated, "Willingly."

***

 **Track Nine**

Casey leaned against the doorframe, staring at the shadowed hills of Dan's bed until the mounds resolved into curves of legs, shoulders, arms. He'd woken up on Dan's three-seater couch with a very full bladder making an annoyance of itself. Once he'd relieved that pressure -- and then washed his hands, because you _always_ washed your hands -- he'd felt a little too awake to go back to sleep.

So he'd switched off the stark bathroom light and carefully made his way through the sudden darkness to Dan's bedroom door.

As he stood there, the black-on-black resolved into shades of shadow: the dark charcoal of carpet and the light grey square of Dan's wide bed; the inky black of Dan's navy sheets and the pearly green of Dan's skin tinted by his alarm clock.

Now he could see that Dan was lying on his side, one leg bent and stretched over the other, one hand curled up on the pillow. He'd kicked his comforters down until they lay across his stomach, leaving his chest naked and exposed. From one corner, a bare foot poked out, toes pointed towards the wall.

Casey shifted his weight, watching Dan's chest expand as he breathed deeply, slowly. Dan didn't snore, but normally, Casey could hear him breathing. Tonight, he was so quiet that only the regular rise and fall of his chest stopped Casey from going over and checking on him.

Casey let his gaze drift from that cheeky foot up hills of leg, elbow and shoulder to that long stretch of neck. Then he realized Dan's eyes were open, watching him.

He probably should have apologized or made a joke. If he'd felt uncomfortable and guilty, he would have. But he didn't. He felt hazy and a little tired, mellow and content.

Dan didn't make a joke either. He lifted his hand towards Casey, palm up and open. For a moment, Casey stared, breathing in the strong lines of Dan's silhouette and wondering at the ease of the gesture. Wondering at the way it felt simple and obvious to walk across that dark ground and slide his hand into Dan's grip.

Dan pulled him closer, pressing warm lips against Casey's chilled knuckles. Then he rolled back and lifted one corner of the bedding in clear invitation, and all Casey could think was ' _yes_ '.

  
***

  
Dan pushed inside, and it was sharp and invasive and too much. Then Dan was kissing him tenderly, mumbling reassurances against Casey's lips and jaw. Casey didn't hear the words, but he knew the tone of voice; he understood their meaning. It didn't really help.

"Breathe, Casey." Dan stopped moving, and hovered above him with his hips frozen -- or possibly fused -- to Casey's skin. He cupped Casey's cheek in one palm, pressing his thumb along the cheekbone, and smiled. "Just breathe."

"I'm okay," Casey said, forcing a shaky smile.

Dan shifted his weight to his arms, and started to pull out. He was moving slowly -- dragging loud, ragged breaths through clenched teeth -- but it still made Casey wince. He felt stretched and open, left strangely empty while Dan paused and gulped a breath before pushing back in.

Moving slowly and carefully, Dan kept kissing him as if that could make this easier, and this time it wasn't as bad. It was still intense, still too much; still higher and deeper than Casey had ever imagined, but it was better. Good enough that this time, he didn't grimace when Dan pulled away.

When Dan pushed in again, it was easier, smoother; no longer impossible to roll his hips with Dan's and relax as Dan pulled out. The rhythm set itself: in and out, impossibly-empty and then impossibly-full. Casey groaned and squirmed as Dan dropped his head to Casey's shoulder and grunted, thrusting harder. Casey could hear himself making these sounds -- low groans and embarrassingly desperate gasps -- as he tried to tell Dan this was beyond good. This felt mind-blowing and overwhelming, important and necessary for Casey to keep breathing.

Dan held him and thrust so surely, and it was everything sex should be, everything it never was; everything Casey had been searching for, without even knowing he was missing it. It was like running past third base and sliding home.

***

 **Track Ten**

"It occurs to me," Dan said, as he slid back into bed with two coffees, "that I haven't asked."

"Haven't asked what?"

"Are you okay with this?"

Casey took one of the mugs from Dan and blew on it until it stopped steaming. "It's a little hot, but it's good."

"No, I meant," Dan paused, pulling a face, "us."

Casey found himself grimacing in return. "It's hard to explain."

"Try."

"It's just Lisa and me, we were And you and me, we're... It's different."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "It's different?"

"It's totally different," Casey said, forcing himself to sip the too-hot coffee.

There were insults sitting on the tip of Dan's tongue, Casey was sure. But instead of airing them, Dan narrowed his eyes and waited for Casey to swallow. Then he asked, "In what way?"

"In the way you make me feel," Casey said, placing his mug down on one of Dan's bedside tables. He leaned across the bed and kissed Dan soundly, loving the way Dan's hands came up to cup his jaw, carefully holding him there.

He pulled back, and Dan grinned. "I will not be distracted by kissing."

"Oh, I think you will," Casey said, kissing Dan again.

This time, Dan had to blink a few times before he spoke. "Okay, I'll be temporarily distracted, but I'll bug you about this tomorrow. And the day after, if necessary."

"But there'll be kissing, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Dan frowned a little, and Casey suddenly realized Dan was more worried than he should have been. "Is it different in a good way?"

Casey played with the mug, turning it in his hands and slowly draining it as he tried to think of a response. It wasn't easy to describe how Dan -- how Dan's touch -- made him feel. "Your mom had a set of good dishes, right?"

Dan's brows jumped. "The good china?"

"The type of dishes you buy because they're beautiful, because you want them, regardless of how impractical they are. They're the dishes that you treat carefully, that you only use on special occasions because they're delicate and they're breakable. They're precious, you know?"

"And when you break one, you know you're going to be paying for it out of your allowance for months," Dan added.

"Yeah. Then there are the everyday dishes. The dishes that aren't bought for beauty, they're bought for practicality. They're supposed to be solid and dependable and not break under pressure. But if they do break, it's not a big deal because they're easily replaced." Casey paused, glancing at Dan's dark eyes. "Lisa made me feel like I was the everyday dishes."

"Solid and dependable, huh?" Dan didn't say 'not special' or 'not important,' but Casey could see by the tight, disapproving frown that he understood.

"Pretty much." Casey finished the rest of his coffee, waiting for Dan to get what he was really trying to say.

"And I," Dan paused, a little uncertain, "I make you feel like the good china?"

Casey brushed his lips over Dan's cheek. He let his mouth hover there, nearly touching Dan's skin, because this was the type of thing that should be whispered close. "Every time you touch me."

  
***

  
There was no doubt about it. When it came to bedroom activities, Dan was the go-to guy. He didn't trip over his words -- or stumble over his discarded shoes, like Casey frequently did -- he was smooth and confident, easy inside his skin in a way that Casey had never been. Dan had a way of making it all work. Whether it was fast and desperate, or light and teasing, Dan could focus Casey, could make Casey's entire world contract to here and now.

Casey liked this best of all: slow and sweet, stretched out on the bed with his arms above his head, the cotton sheet rubbing against his chest, his stomach, and his cock every time Dan moved.

His hands were clenched, clawing into the top of the mattress, but it was Dan's hand around his wrist that made this so good. Dan's tight grip, not holding Casey down, but keeping him grounded as Dan slid in and out, as Dan rolled his hips and reshaped Casey into this needy, whimpering thing.

Dan panted against his shoulder-blades -- occasionally dropping random kisses on the nape of his neck or sharp, unexpected bites -- and Casey could feel Dan's chest against his back, could feel Dan's weight shift above him with each slow thrust. Casey pressed his cheek into the pillow, feeling pushed and pulled like the tide.

Dan's hand was secured on Casey's hip, and Casey knew that when he got too desperate -- when the soft whimpers turned into incoherent, wordless begging; when the rub of the cotton against his cock and the stretch of Dan inside him was too much to bear -- that Danny would be there: one hand around Casey's wrists and the other around Casey's cock, carrying him home.

But right now, with his skin singing and Danny inside him and around him and above him, Casey wanted this to last all night.

***

 **Track Eleven**

"Where's Dan?" Dana stood in their doorway, wearing a long, smoky grey skirt and pointed black heels that were tapping an angry, staccato beat. "I mean it, Casey. Where the hell is he?"

Casey swung the desk chair around to face her. "He's on his way to his interview."

"The interview was at two-thirty. It's now two thirty-five, and no one knows where he is."

Casey shook his head. "The interview was at three o'clock, it's now two thirty-five, and Danny is on his way there."

"The interview was moved to two-thirty."

"It was?"

Dana huffed sharply. "I told you guys at the noon rundown."

"I missed that," Casey said, holding up a hand to wave off blame. "I had that thing at Charlie's school, remember?"

"Fine." From Dana's narrowed eyes, it obviously wasn't fine. "Dan knows that it was moved to two-thirty."

"But I was the one keeping an eye on the time for him."

Dana patted the doorframe a few times, and then turned around. "Like that helps me," she called out as she walked back to the bullpen.

Casey knew a furor when it was coming. He scrambled after Dana, calling out her name.

"What?" She spun on her heel, and he nearly walked into her.

Casey grimaced. He didn't have a chance of calming her down while Kim and Elliot were sitting at their desks, pretending not to eavesdrop. He placed his hands on Dana's shoulders, turned her around, and walked her over to her office.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to your office."

"Why?"

"Because the mess-up wasn't completely Dan's fault, and I don't want to apologize in front of a crowd of people." Casey frog-marched her inside and closed the door behind them. "Also, I think you're blowing this out of proportion."

Dana's eyes went dangerously wide. "Do you recall Dan begging me to let him interview Tiger Woods?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea how much kowtowing I had to do to organize that interview?"

"A lot."

"And now I have to call them," Dana said, her face stretching into a smile that made Casey want to hide behind her sofa, "and say that we run a very professional sports show with anchors who can't read a _clock_?"

"If you have their number, I could call."

Dana shot him a weary glare. Then she sighed and leaned on the edge of her desk. "That doesn't help."

"Danny was thrilled about this interview. He's not going to screw it up."

"He's not, huh? Because I've got to say, I don't like swallowing my pride at the best of times." Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Dana pulled a face that was more worried than angry. "It doesn't help the network and it doesn't help the show when this type of screw-up happens. I can't be watching over you two every minute of the day."

"Of course not," Casey replied solicitously, even if he was secretly pleased about that. If she watched them as closely as that, he and Danny wouldn't have been able to spend yesterday afternoon sitting on the couch together, writing and reading over each other's shoulders. "We don't expect you to. And Danny is excited about this."

"So you said."

"He even tried to call his father to show off."

Dana's face softened, and the straight line of her shoulders relaxed. "Okay, fine, he'll do it right."

"He won't embarrass you, Dana."

"I know," Dana admitted ruefully, "but I still have to--" The phone on her desk rang, and Dana was up and grabbing at it before Casey had a chance to react.

"Dana Whitaker," she said, holding the receiver tightly. "Dan, what-- It was rescheduled, I told you-- Okay. Okay. You'll be back here by four-thirty, right? Yeah. Five at the latest. Bye."

Casey grinned. Dan's call couldn't have come at a better time. "So?"

"So," Dana said slowly, watching the receiver sitting back in its cradle. "Dan called to apologize. He said he'd just remembered that the interview was rescheduled, so he called Tiger Woods' people to say he was stuck in traffic and would be there by three. Apparently, they didn't mind."

"I--"

"Don't say it." Dana pressed against her closed eyelids. "Don't say I told you so."

"I didn't say a thing," Casey said as he edged out of her office.

  
***

  
Casey woke up alone in a double bed. The strange thing was that he woke up alone in Dan's double bed. He rubbed at his eyes, and then reached across. The sheet was cold.

That was enough to make Casey get out of bed, pull a robe on and go into the living room. He'd expected Dan to be in the kitchen -- getting a cold drink or making coffee -- but Dan was standing in front of the window, staring out at the choppy skyline as the sky faded to violet. A familiar CD played softly on the stereo.

Casey wasn't surprised. Dan's father had returned his call that night, and Dan had been weirdly untouchable ever since. Casey could reach out and hold him -- and he had when they'd crawled into bed -- but he couldn't reach the bruises behind Dan's eyes. It didn't stop him from trying, though.

And it certainly didn't stop him from walking up behind Dan, resting his chin on Dan's shoulder, and wrapping his arms around Dan's chest. "Couldn't sleep?"

Dan shrugged and rested his hands on Casey's forearms, sneaking cold fingers under the sleeves of the robe. They stood there quietly, watching the sky lighten, and then Dan mumbled something Casey couldn't hear. "What?"

"I'll make you a deal," Dan said softly.

"What kind of a deal?"

"The kind of deal where if you want out, you say so now." Dan continued in a polyester voice, smooth and fake. "If you want an easy exit, this is it. Just say so, and you can walk away: no muss, no fuss. No big scenes. No searching questions. If you want out, just-- Say the word, and you leave, and we won't talk about this again."

Casey felt his arms tighten around Dan's ribcage. He swallowed, and his voice wasn't smooth or charming; it was rough and a little scared. "It wouldn't make any difference."

"What?" Dan turned his head quickly, glancing over his shoulder. He looked young and fragile, but above all, he suddenly looked touchable.

"Leaving now wouldn't change anything." Casey lifted a hand and traced the warm shadows beneath Dan's jaw. He felt Dan's throat move as he breathed, as he swallowed. "I'd still be yours. And I'd still think of you as mine. This isn't something I could walk away from."

Dan turned his head away, but he didn't step out of Casey's embrace. "Maybe it should be."

"Danny?" Casey asked, keeping one hand against Dan's neck, feeling the strong pulse with his fingertips.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

The sky shifted to pink and orange as the first rays of treacle-colored sunlight started to hit the buildings in front of them, creeping across the highest roofs. The stereo switched over to a new song and Dan started to sway to the slow rhythm. Casey settled his hands on Dan's hips and moved with Dan, letting the tension ease out of his spine.

They stayed there, not quite dancing, while the sky became blue. Then Dan pulled Casey's arms away from him and turned around. He buried his face in Casey's shoulder and hugged Casey hard.

Casey squeezed him back. "We should go to bed."

Dan gave a small nod and pulled back a moment before Casey was ready to let go. "It's been one of those days, you know?"

"I know," Casey said, pressing a kiss to Dan's lips. Dan kissed him back, all soft pliancy, and Casey felt like he'd won, like he'd passed some unknown test.

Dan stepped away and walked back towards the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, and looked over his shoulder. "You coming?"

Casey nodded and followed. Behind them, the sounds of a strumming guitar drifted from the stereo.  



End file.
